Across hills and valleys, where the earth remembers old names, the dead do not rest easily. Their whispers thread through abandoned shrines, overgrown graveyards, and crossroads where candles flicker in the wind. In villages, people murmur of strange figures who walk among the forgotten, neither priests nor villains, whose power comes from listening to what others fear. These figures are the Moroi.

The Moroi are spellcasters who draw their strength from death itself—but not through cruelty or domination. Instead, they act as listeners, bargainers, and wardens. In Balkan folklore, the boundary between life and death is porous. Spirits linger in homes, graves, forests, and springs; ancestors whisper guidance and warnings; wronged souls refuse to sleep. The Moroi steps into this in-between place, forging bonds with spirits, bones, and restless memories, wielding their power through ritual, tokens, and whispered names.

They might be born under ill omens, hearing voices from childhood; chosen by the dead, visited by spectral teachers; or scarred by tragedy, compelled to reach beyond the veil for answers. Some inherit their role through apprenticeship to an elder grave-keeper, learning secret rites passed down outside written history. Others stumble into it, cursed or claimed by forces they barely understand.

To outsiders, the Moroi’s power is unsettling. They do not wear grand robes or wield brilliant staffs; their strength is found in bone charms, candles guttering in the wind, etched stones, and ash circles. Their magic manifests in faint whispers, shifting shadows, and cold breaths on the back of the neck. Their spells call not upon distant gods, but upon ancestral bonds, wandering shades, and the grave’s quiet authority.

A Moroi might be the quiet figure who tends the graveyard, lighting candles each dusk to keep the dead calm. Another might wander from village to village, breaking curses or guiding spirits to rest. Some act as spirit mediums, others as grim defenders, binding revenants to bone to protect their people. A few walk the shadows like ghosts themselves, half in this world, half in the next.

They are not celebrated heroes, nor are they despised villains. Instead, they are liminal beings, respected and feared, necessary yet never fully trusted. The living need them—but rarely understand them.

To play a Moroi is to embrace the eerie, to hold the weight of whispers and turn death into both a weapon and a shield. You are not the conqueror of death, but its interpreter, its bargainer, its companion. In the darkness where others hear only silence, you hear the truth.

This contains a full class up to level 20 with abilities and background, based on Balkan Folklore and culture, this is not written by a native of that area so may contain certain cultural biases from a western european point of view.